NRLF 


B   M   SOD   37t 


, 

' IV 


A   SELECTION 


OF 


WAR    LYRICS 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    ON    WOOD 


F.  ().  C     DAKLEY 


N  F,  W      YORK: 

P  U  B  L  1  S  H  K  D      B  Y      H  U  R  I)     &      HOUGHTON, 

401    BROADWAY,   COR.    WALKER   ST. 

M.DCCC.LXVI. 


Entered  ^lord'ng  to  Act  of,  Congress;,  in  the  year  1864, 
BY  JAMES   G.  •  GREGORY, 

in  tin    Clerk';:'  Of^ce-  of  t.!;e"  District  Court  <_>:'  the  United  States,  vor  fhv 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


CONTENTS. 


A  I.I,     OyiET     ALONG     THK     PoTOMAC        . 

THI-:   COLOR-SERGEANT       .  . 

THK   CAVALRY    CHARGE       .... 

THK   LITTLK    DRUMMKR 

"  PICCIOLA  " 

ON   THK   SHORES  OK   TENNESSEE 
ON    BOARD  THK   CUMBERLAND 


Bv  Ethel  L\nn  Beers.  5 

,/.   /X   F.  Randolph.  8 

Edmund  C.  8ted?nan.  I  2 

R.  H.  Stoddard.  14 

Anonymous.  ig 

.       .       .        E.   L.   Beers.  22 

George  H.   Boker.  26 


95^871 


"ALL    yiJIET    ALONG    THE    POTOMAC." 

tl  A 1. 1,    quiet    along    the     Potomac,"    they    say, 
"  Except     now    and    then    a    stray    picket 

Is    shot,    as    he    walks    on    his    heat,    to    and    fro, 

B\     a    rifleman     hid    in    the    thicket. 
'Ti>     nothing — a     private-    or    two,     now    and    then, 

Will     not     count     in    the     news    of    the     battle  ; 
Not     an     officer    lost — onlv     one    of"    the     men, 
Moaning    out,    all    alone,    the'    death-rattle." 


W  A  R     L  V  R  I  C  S  . 

All    quiet    along    the     Potomac    to-night, 

Where    the    soldiers    lie    peacefully    dreaming  ; 
Their    tents,    in    the    rays   of    the    clear    autumn    moon, 

Or    the    light    of   the    watch-rires    are    gleaming. 
A    tremulous    sigh    of   the    gentle    night-wind 

Through    the    forest    leaves    softly    is    creeping  ; 
While    stars    up    above,    with    their    glittering    eyes, 

Keep    guard — for    the    army    is    sleeping. 

There's    only    the    sound    of   the    lone    sentry's    tread, 

As    he    tramps    from    the    rock    to    the    fountain, 
And    thinks    of   the    two   in    the    low    trundle-bed, 

Far    away    in    the    cot    on    the    mountain. 
His    musket    falls    slack — his    face,    dark    and    grim, 

Grows    gentle    with    memories    tender, 
As    he    mutters    a    prayer    for   the    children    asleep, — 

For    their    mother, — may    Heaven    defend    her  ! 

The    moon    seems    to    shine    just    as    brightly    as    then, 

That    night,    when    the    love    yet    unspoken 
Leaped    up    to    his    lips, — when    low  murmured    vows 

Were    pledged    to    be    ever    unbroken. 
Then    drawing    his    sleeve    roughly    over    his    eyes, 

He    dashes    off   tears    that    are    welling, 
And    gathers    his    gun   closer    up    to    its    place, 

As    if    to    keep    down    the    heart-swelling  ! 

He    passes    the    fountain,    the    blasted    pine-tree — 

The    footstep    is    lagging    and    weary  ; 
Yet    onward    he    goes,    through    the    broad    belt    of    light, 

Towards    the    shades    of   the    forest    so    dreary. 
Hark  !   was    it    the    night-wind    that    rustled    the    leaves  : 

Was    it    moonlight    so    wondrously    flashing  ? 
It    looked    like    a    rifle — tc  Ha  !    MARY,    good-bv  !" 

And    the    lite-blood    is    ebbing    and    plashing. 


WA  R     LYRICS. 


All    quiet     alono;    the     Potomac-    to-night,    - 
No    sound    save    the    rush    of    the    river  ; 

While    soft    falls    the    clew    on    the    face    of    the    cleacl- 
The    picket's    off    duty     forever. 


THE    COLOR-SERGEANT. 

You    say    that    in    every    battle 

No    soldier    was    braver    than    he, 
As,    aloft     in    the    roar    and    the    rattle, 

He    carried    the    flag    of    the     Free  : 
I     knew,    ah  !    I     knew    he'd    ne'er    falter, 

I     could    trust     him,    the    dutiful    boy  : 
iVl  \     Robert     was    wilful, — -but     \Valter, 

Dear    Walter,    was    ever    a    joy. 

And    if    he    was    true    to    his    mother, 

Do    you    think    he    his    trust     would    betray, 
And    crive    up    his    place    to    another, 

Or    turn    from    the    clanger    away  ? 
He    knew    while    afar    he    was    straying, 

He    felt    in    the    thick    of    the    right, 
That    at    home    his    poor    mother    was    praying 

For    him    and    the    cause    of  the     Right  ! 

Fell     me,    comrade,     who    saw    him     when    dying, 

What     he    said,     what     he    did,     if    you     can  ; 
.On    thtv  titl.d  «in    his    agony    Iving, 

.Dicl    he    surfer    and    die    like    a    man  ; 
Do.    vou    ;thinkV  l\e  once    wished    he    had    never 
Borne    arms    for    the     Right    and    the-      Frue  ? 
Ac/v,     /'/•    shouted    Our    cfjuntr\    forever! 

IVlien    be    tin  (I    />/'    \vd>    praying    for    \'ju  ' 


1'y.    mi  .x5 


^ 

>^*J 


WAR     LYRICS 

C)    my    darling  !     my    youngest    and    fairest, 
Whom    I    gathered    so    close    to    my    breast  ; 

I    called    thee    my    dearest    and    rarest, 
And    thou    wert    my    purest    and    best  ! 

I    tell    you,    ()    friend !     as    a    mother, 
Whose    full    heart    is    breaking    to-day, 

The    infinite    Father — none    other- 
Can    know    what    He's    taken    away. 

I    thank    you    once    more    for    your    kindness  : 

For    this    lock    of   his    bright    auburn    hair  ; — 
Perhaps    'tis    the    one    I    in    blindness 

Last    touched,    as    we    parted    just    there  ! 
When    he    asked,    through    his    tears,    should    he    linger 

From    duty,    I    answered    him,    Nay  : 
And    he    smiled,    as    he    placed    on    my    finger 

The    ring    I    am    wearing    to-day. 

I    watched    him    leap    into    that    meadow  ; 

There,    a    child,    he    with    others,    had    played  ; 
I    saw    him    pass    slowly    the    shadow 

Of   the    trees    where    his    father    was    laid  ; 
And    there,    where    the    road    meets    two    others, 

Without    turning    he    went    on    his    way  : 
Once    his    face    towards    the    foe — not    his    mother's 

Should    unman    him,    or    cause    him    delay. 

It    may    be    that    some    day    your    duty 

Will    carry    you    that    way    again  ; 
When    the    field    shall    be    riper    in    beauty, 

Enriched    by    the    blood    of   the    slain  ; 
Would    you    see    if   the    grasses    are    growing 

On    the    grave    of    my    boy  ?      Will    you    set- 
It"   a    flower,    e'en    the    smallest,    is    blowing, 

And    pluck    it,    and    send    it    to 


T  H  E     C  O  LOR     S  I-  R  G  £  A  \  rr  . 

Don't    think,    in    my    grief,    I'm    complaining  ; 

I    gave    him,    God    took    him  ;    'tis    right  ; 
And    the    cry    of    his    mother    remaining 

Shall    strengthen    his    comrades    in    fight. 
Not    for    vengeance,    to-day,    in    my    weeping, 

Goes    my    prayer    to    the     Infinite    Throne. 
God    pity    the    foe    when    he's    reaping 

The    harvest    of    what    he    has    sown  ! 

Tell    his    comrades    these    words    of    his    mother  : 

All    over    the    wide    land    to-day, 
The    Rachels,    who    weep    with    each    other, 

Together    in    agony    pray. 
They    know,    in    their    great    tribulation, 

By    the    blood    of    their    children    outpoured, 
We    shall    smite    down    the    foes    of    the    Nation, 

In    the    terrible    da\     of   the    Lord. 


WAR      L  Y  R  I  (.'  S  . 

THE    CAVALRY    CHARGE. 

I-'KOM    "  ALICK   OK    MONMOUTH." 

OUR    mjod    steeds    snuft    the    evening    air, 
Our    pulses    with    their    purpose    tingle  -, 
The    foeman's    fires    are    twinkling    there  -, 
He    leaps    to    hear    our    sabres    jingle! 

HALT  ! 

Each    carbine    send    its    wh'r///,ing    ball  : 
Now',    cling  !    clang  !     forward    all, 
Into    the    nVht  ! 


b 


Dash    on    beneath    the    smoking    dome : 

Thro'    level    lightnings    gallop    nearer  ! 
One    look    to    Heaven!       No    thoughts    of    home 

O 

The    guidons    that    we    bear    are    dearer. 

CHARGE! 

Cling  !    clang  !     forward    all  ! 
Heaven    help    those    whose    horses    fall  : 
Cut    left    and    right  ! 

The\     flee    before    our    fierce    attack  ! 

They    fall  !    they    spread    in    broken    surges. 
Now,    comrades,    bear    our    wounded    back, 
And    leave    the    foeman    to    his    dirges. 

WHEEL! 

'I 'he    bugles    sound    the    swift    recall  : 
Cling  '    clang  !    backward    all  ! 

Home    and    good-night  ! 


W  A  R      L  Y  R  I  C  S  . 

THE    LITTLE    DRUMMER. 

'Tis    of    a    little    drummer, 

The    story    I    shall    tell  : 
Of    how    he    marched    to    battle, 

And    all    that    there    befell. 
Out    in    the    West    with    Lyon 

(For    once    the    name    was    true), 
Eor    whom    the    little    drummer    beat 

His    rat-tat-too. 

Our    army    rose    at    midnight, 

Ten    thousand    men    as    one, 
Each    slinging    on    his    knapsack, 

And    snatching    up    his    gun  : 
u  Forward  /"    and    off   they    started 

As    all    good    soldiers    do, 
When    the    little    drummer    beats    for    them 

The    rat-tat-too. 

Across    a    rolling    country, 

Where    the    mist    began    to    rise  ; 
Past    many    a    blackened    farm-house, 

Till    the    sun    was    in    the    skies  : 
Then    wre    met    the    rebel    pickets, 

Who    skirmished    and    withdrew, 
While    the    little    drummer    beat    and    beat 

The    rat-tat-too. 

Along    the    wooded    hollows 

The    line    of   battle    ran. 
Our    centre    poured    a    volley, 

And    the    fight    at    once    began  ; 
For    the    rebels    answered    shouting, 

And    a    shower    ot    bullets     flew; 
But     still    the    little    drummer    beat 

His  r (i t-t fit-too. 

'4 


T  H  K     L  1  TT  LE     D  R  L1  M  M  V.  R. 

He    stood    amoiiLr     his    comrades, 

As    they    quickly    formed    the    line, 
And    when    they    raised    their    muskets 

He    watched    the    barrels    shine  ' 
And    when    the    volley    broke,    he    started, 

For    war    to    him    was    new  : 
But    still    the    little    drummer    beat 

His    rat-tat-too. 

It    was    a    sight    to    see    them, 

That    earlv    autumn    dav, 
Our    soldiers    in    their    blue    coats, 

And    the    rebel    ranks    in    gray  ; 
The    smoke    that    rolled    between    them, 

The    balls    that    whistled    through, 
And    the     little    drummer    as    he    beat 

His    rat-tat-too. 

His    comrades    dropped    around    him, — 

By    fives    and    tens    they    fell, 
Some    pierced    by    Minie    bullets, 

Some    torn    by    shot    and    shell. 
They    played    against    our    cannon, 

And    a    caisson's    splinters    flew  : 
But    still    the    little    drummer    beat 

His    rat-tat-too. 

The    right,    the    left,    the    centre — 

The    fight    was    everywhere  : 
They    pushed    us    here, — we    wavered, — 

We    drove    and    broke    them    there. 
The    gray-backs    fixed    their    bayonets, 

And    charged    the    coats    of   blue, 
But    still    the    little    drummer    beat 

His    rat-tat-too. 


WAR    LYRICS. 

\Vhere    is    our    little    drummer  ?" 

His    nearest    comrades    say, 
When    the    dreadful    tight    is    over, 

And    the    smoke    has    cleared    away. 
As    the    rebel    corps    was    scattering, 

He    urged    them    to    pursue ; 
So,    furiously    he    beat    and    beat 

The    rat-tat-too  ! 

He    stood    no    more    among    them, 

For    a    bullet    as    it    sped 
Had    glanced    and    struck    his    ankle, 

And    stretched    him    with    the    dead  ! 
He    crawled    behind    a    cannon, 

And    pale    and    paler    grew  : 
But    still    the    little    drummer    beat 

His    rat-tat-too  ! 

They    bore    him    to    the    surgeon, 

A    busy    man    was    he  : 
A    drummer-boy — what    ails    him  ?" 

His    comrades    answered,    tc  See  !' 
As    they    took    him    from    the    stretcher, 

A    heavy    breath    he    drew, 
And    his    little    fingers    strove    to    beat 

The    rat-tat-too  ! 

The    ball    had    spent    its    fury  : 

"  A    scratch,"    the    surgeon    said, 
As    he    wound    the    snowy    bandage 

Which    the    lint    was    staining    red  ! 
I    must    leave    you    now,    old    fellow." 

"  ()    take    me    back    with    you, 
For    I     know    the    men    are    missing    me, 

And    the    rat-tat-too!" 
16 


THE     LITTLE     DRUMMER. 

Upon    his    comrade's    shoulder 

They    lifted    him    so    grand, 
With    his    dusty    drum    before    him, 

And    his    drum-sticks    in    his    hand  ! 
To    the    fiery    front    of   battle, 

That    nearer,    nearer    drew, — 
And    evermore    he    beat,    and    beat, 

His    rat-tat-too  ! 

The    wounded    as    he    passed    them 

Looked    up    and    gave    a    cheer : 
And    one    in    dying    blessed    him, 

Between    a    smile    and    tear  ! 
And    the    gray-backs — they    are  flying 

Before    the    coats    of   blue, 
For    whom    the    little    drummer    beats 

His    rat-tat-too. 

When    the    west    was    red    with    sunset, 

The    last    pursuit    was    o'er  ; 
Brave    Lyon    rode    the   foremost, 

And    looked    the    name    he    bore ! 
And    before    him    on    his    saddle, 

As    a    weary    child    would    do, 
Sat    the    little    drummer    fast    asleep, 

With    his    rat-tat-too. 
18 


"  P  I  CC I O  L  A  ." 


P  I  C  C  I  O  L  A. 


IT    was    a    sergeant    old    and    gray, 

Well    singed    and    bronzed    from    siege    and    pillage, 
Went    tramping    in    an    army's    wake, 

Along    the    turnpike    of   the    village. 

For    days    and    nights    the    winding    host 

Had    through    the    little    place    been    marching, 

And    ever    loud    the    rustics    cheered, 

Till    ev'ry    throat    was    hoarse    and    parching. 

The    squire    and    farmer,    maid    and    dame, 
All    took    the    sight's    electric    stirring, 

And    hats    were    waved,    and    staves    were    sung, 
And    'kerchiefs    white    were    countless    whirling. 

They    only    saw    a    gallant    show 

Of   heroes    stalwart    under    banners, 
And    in    the    fierce    heroic    glow 

'Twas    theirs    to    yield      but    wild    hosannas. 

The    sergeant  heard    the    shrill    hurrahs, 

Where    he  behind    in    step    was    keeping  ; 

But    glancing  down    beside    the    road, 

He    saw    a  little    maid    sit    weeping. 

"  And    how    is    this  ?"    he    gruffly    said, 

A    moment    pausing    to    regard    her  ; 
"Why    weepest    thou,    my    little    chit?" 

And    then    she    only    cried    the    harder. 

'9 


W  A  R     L  V  R  I  C  S. 

"  And    how    is    this,    my    little    chit  ?" 

The    sturdy    trooper    straight    repeated, — 

"  When    all    the    village    cheers    us    on, 

That    you,    in    tears,    apart    are    seated  ? 

"  WTe    march    two    hundred    thousand    strong ! 

And    that's    a    sight,    my    baby    beauty, 
TV)    quicken    silence    into    song, 
And    glorify    the    soldier's    duty." 

"  It's    very,    very    grand,    I    know," 

The    little    maid    gave    soft    replying ; 

"  And    father,    mother,    brother,    too, 

All    say    l  hurrah'    while    I    am    crying. 

"But    think— O    Mr.    Soldier,    think, 

How    many    little    sisters'    brothers 
Are    going    all    away    to    fight, 

Who    may    be    killed^    as    well    as    others  !" 

"  Why,    bless    thee,    child,"    the    sergeant    said, 
His    brawny    hand    her    curls    caressing, 

"  'Tis    left    for    little    ones    like    you 

To    find    that    war's    not    all    a    blessing." 

And    "bless    thee!"    once    again    he    cried; 

Then    cleared    his    throat    and    looked    indignant, 
And    marched    away    with    wrinkled    brow 

To    stop    the    straggling    tear    benignant. 

And    still    the    ringing    shouts    went    up 

From    doorwray,    thatch,    and    fields    of   tillage  ; 

The    pall    behind    the    standard    seen 
By    one    alone,    of   all    the    village. 


WAR      LYRICS. 


The    oak    and    cedar    bend    and    writhe 

When    roars    the    wind    through    gap    and    braken  ; 
But    'tis    the    tenderest    reed    of   all 

That    trembles    first    when    earth    is    shaken. 


ON    THE    SHORES    OF    TENNESSEE, 

u  MOVE    my    arm-chair,    faithful    Pompey, 

In  the  sunshine  bright  and  strong, 
For  this  world  is  fading,  Pompey, — 

Massa    won't    be    with    you    long  ; 
And    I    fain    would    hear    the    south    wind 

Bring    once    more    the    sound    to    me, 
Of   the    wavelets    softly    breaking 

On    the    shores    of   Tennessee. 

"  Mournful    though    the    ripples    murmur, 

As    they    still    the    story    tell, 
How    no    vessels    float    the    banner 

That    I've    loved    so    long    and    well  ; 
I    shall    listen    to    their    music, 

Dreaming    that    again    I    see 
Stars    and    Stripes    on    sloop    and    shallop 

Sailing    up    the    Tennessee. 

ct  And,    Pompey,    while    old    Massa's    waiting 

For  Death's  last  dispatch  to  come, 
If  that  exiled,  starry  banner 

Should  come  proudly  sailing  home, 
You  shall  greet  it,  slave  no  longer  ;— 

Voice  and  hand  shall  both  be  free 
That  shout  and  point  to  Union  colors 

On    the    waves    of   Tennessee." 


0  N     T  H  K     S  H  O  R  K  S      O  F     T  E  N  \  K  S  S  E  E 

t  Massa's    berry     kuul    to    Pompev  ; 
But    ole    darkey's    happy    here, 
Where    he's    tended    corn    and    cotton 
For    'ese    many    a    long-gone    year. 

O      O 

O\'er    yonder    Missis'    sleeping, — 

No    one    tends    her    grave    like    me  ; 

O 

Mebbe    she    would    miss    the    flowers 
She    used    to    love    in    Tennessee, 

'Pears    like    she    was    watching,    Massa— 

If    Pompev    should    beside    him    stay  ; 
Mebbe    she'd    remember    better 

How    for    him    she    used    to    pray  ; 
Telling    him    that    way    up    yonder 

\Vhite    as    snow    his    soul    would    be, 
If   he    served    the    Lord    of    Heaven 

\Vhile    he    lived    in    Tennessee." 

Silently    the    tears    were    rolling 

Down    the    poor    old    dusky    face. 
As    he    stepped    behind    his    master, 

In    his    long-accustomed    place. 
Then    a    silence    fell    around    them, 

As    they    gazed    on    rock    and    tree 
Pictured    in    the    placid    waters 

Of   the    rolling    Tennessee : 

CD 

Master,    dreaming    of   the    battle 

'  O 

Where    he    fought    by    Marion's    side, 
When    he    bid    the    haughty    Tarleton 

Stoop    his    lordly    crest    of   pride  ; 
Man,    remembering    how    yon    sleeper 

Once    he    held    upon    his    knee, 
Ere    she    loved    the    gallant    soldier, 

Ralph    Vervair,    of   Tennessee. 

-  3 


ON      THE     SHORES      OF     TENNESSEE. 

Still    the    south    wind    fondly    lingers 

'  Mid    the    veteran's    silver    hair  ; 
Still    the    bondman    close    beside    him 

Stands    behind    the    old    arm-chair. 
With    his    dark-hued    hand    uplifted, 

Shading    eyes,    he    bends    to    see 
Where    the    woodland,    boldly    jutting 

Turns    aside    the    Tennessee. 

Thus    he    wntches    cloud-born    shadows 

Glide    from    tree    to    mountain    crest, 
Softly    creeping,    aye    and    ever 

To    the    river's    yielding    breast. 
Ha  !    above    the    foliage    yonder 

Something    flutters    wild    and    free  ! 
"Massa!     Massa!    Hallelujah! 

The    flag's    come    back    to    Tennessee  !' 

"  Pompey,    hold    me    on    your    shoulder, 

Help    me    stand    on    foot    once    more" 
That    I    may    salute    the    colors 

As    they    pass    my    cabin    door  ; 
Here's    the    paper    signed    that    frees    you, 

Give    a    freeman's    shout    with    me  — 
1  God    and    Union  !'    be    our    watchword 

Evermore    in    Tennessee." 

Then    the    trembling    voice    grew    fainter, 

And    the    limbs    refused    to    stand  ; 
One    prayer    to    Jesus — and    the    soldier 

Glided    to    that    better    land. 
When    the    flag    went    down    the    river 

Man    and    master    both    were    free, 
\Vhile    the    ringdove's    note    was    mingled 

With    the    rippling    Tennessee. 
-4 


O  X      B  O  A  R  13     T  H  E     C  U  M  B  E  R  L  A  N  U 


ON    BOARD    THE    CUMBERLAND. 

March    -//j,    1862. 

"STAND    to    your    guns,    men!'     Morris    cried. 

Small    need    to    pass    the    word  ; 
Our    men    at    quarters    ranged    themselves 
Before    the    drum    was    heard. 

And    then    began    the    sailors'    jests  : 
"What    thing    is    that,    I    say?" 
"  A    long-shore    meeting-house    adrift 
Is    standing    down    the    bay  !' 

A    frown    came    over    Morris'    face  ; 

The    strange,    dark    craft    he    knew  : 
"  That    is    the    iron    Merrimac, 
Manned    by    a    rebel    crew. 

"  So    shot    your    guns,    and    point    them    straight 

Before    this    day    goes    by, 
We'll    try    of    what    her    metal's    made." 
A    cheer    was    our    reply. 

"  Remember,    boys,    this    flag    of    ours 

Has    seldom    left    its    place  ; 
And    where    it    falls,    the    deck    it    strikes 
Is    covered    with    disgrace. 

"  I    ask    but    this  ;    or    sink    or    swim, 

Or    live    or    nobly    die, 
My    last    sight    upon    earth    may    be 
To    see    that    ensign    fly  !' 

26 


0  X      BOARD     THE     CUMBERLAND. 

Meanwhile    the    shapeless    iron    mass 

Came    moving    o'er    the    wave, 
As    gloomy    as    a    passing    hearse, 

As    silent    as    the    grave. 

Her    ports    were    closed  ;    from    stem    to    stern 

No    sign    of    lite    appeared. 
We    wondered,    questioned,    strained    our    eyes, 

Joked  —  every    thing    but    feared. 

She    reached    our    rani^e.      Our    broadside    rang, 

Our    heavy    pivots    roared  •, 
And    shot    and    shell,    a    Hre    of    hell, 

Against    her    sides    we    poured. 

Ood's,  mercy  !     from    her    sloping    roof 

The    iron    tempest    glanced, 
As    hail    bounds    from    a    cottage    thatch, 

And    round    her    leaped    and    danced  ; 

Or    when    against    her    dusky    hull 

We    struck    a    fair,    full    blow, 
The    mighty,    solid    iron    globes, 

Were    crumbled    up    like    snow. 

On,    on,    with    fast    increasing  speed, 

The    silent    monster    came  ; 
Though    all    our    starboard    battery 

Was    one    long    line    of   flame. 

She    heeded    not,    no    gun    she    fired, 
Straight    on    our    bow    she    bore  ; 

Through    riving    plank    and    crashing    frame 
Her    furious    wav    she    tore. 


\V  A  R      1.  V  R  I  C  S  . 

Alas  !     our    beautiful    keen    how 


So    gentlv     folded     hack     the    seas, 
Fhev     hardK     felt     we    passed  ' 

Alas  !    alas  !    mv    Cumberland, 

That    ne'er    knew    grief    before, 
1  o    be    so    scored,     to    feel    so    deep 

The    tusk    of    that    sea-boar  ! 

( )nce    more    she    backward    drew    a    space, 

Once    more    our    side    she    rent  ; 
Then,    in    the    wantonness    of    hate, 

Her    broadside    through    us    sent. 

I 'he    dead    and    dying    round    us    lay, 

But    our    foemen    lay    abeam  ; 
Her    open    portholes    maddened    us  ; 
We    tired    with    shout    and    scream. 

\\  e     felt    our     vessel    settling    last, 
A\  e    knew    our    time    was    brief. 

"  Ho  !     man    the    pumps!"    but    they     who    worked, 
And    fought    not,     wept    with    orief. 

"Oh!     keep    us    but    an    hour    afloat! 

Oh  !    give    us    onlv    time 
To    mete    upon    the    traitors'    heads 
The    measure    of    their    crime  '" 

1'  rom  captain  down  to  powder-box 

No     hand     was     idle    then  ; 
1  wo     soldiers,    but     bv     chance    aboard, 

Bought     on     like    s;iilor    men. 


WAR      LYRICS. 

And    when    a    Anil's    crew    lost    a    hand, 
Some    bold    marine    stepped    out, 

And    jerked    his    braided    jacket    ort, 
And    hauled    the    gun    about. 

Our    forward    maga/ine    was    drowned  •, 

And    up    from    the    sick    bay 
Crawled    out    the    wounded,    red    with     blood, 

And    round    us    gasping    lay. 

Yes,    cheering,    calling    us    by    name 

Struggling    with    failing    breath, 
'To    keep    their    shipmates    at    the    posts 

Where    Glory    strove    with    Death. 

With    decks    afloat,    and    powder    gone, 

The    last    broadside    wre    gave 
From    the    guns'    heated    iron    lips 

Burst    out    beneath    the    wave. 

So    sponges,    rammers,    and    handspike — 

As    men-of-war's-men    should — 
We    placed    within    their    proper    racks, 

And    at    our    quarters    stood. 

Up    to    the    spar-deck  !    save    yourselves  !' 
Cried    Selfridge.       "  Up,    my    men  ! 

God    grant    that    some    of    us    may    live 
To    fight    von    ship    again  !' 

We    turned — we    did    not    like    to    go  : 

Yet    staving    seemed    but    vain, 
Knee-deep    in    water;    so    we    left; 

Some    swore,    some    groaned    with    pain. 


O  N      B  O  A  K  D      T  H  H      c:  L  M  B  K  HI.  A  \  L>. 

We     reached     the     deck.       There     Randall     stood  : 

"  Another    turn,     men — so  !' 
Calmly     he    aimed     his    pivot    tz;un  : 

"Now,    Tennv,    let    her    go!" 

It    did    our    sore    hearts    good    to    hear 

The    song    our    pivot    san^;, 
As    rushing    on    from    wave    to    wave 
The    whirring    bombshell    sprang. 

Brave     Randall    leaped     upon    the    gun, 

And    waved    his    cap    in    sport  ; 
Well    done  !     well    aimed  !     I    saw    that     shell 

Go    through    an    open    port." 

It    was    our    last,    our    deadliest    shot  ; 

The    deck    was    overflown  •, 
The    poor    ship    staggered,    lurched    to    port, 

And    <j;ave    a    living    groan. 

Down,    down,    as    headlong    through    the    waves 

Our    gallant    vessel    rushed, 
A    thousand    gurgling    watery    sounds 

Around    niv    senses    gushed. 

Then    I    remember    little    more. 

One    look    to    heaven    I    gave, 
Where,    like    an    angel's    wing;,    I    saw 

Our    spotless    ensign    wave. 

1    tried    to    cheer.      1    cannot    say 

Whether    I    swam    or    sank  ; 
A    blue    mist    closed    around    mv    eves, 

And    ever      thin      was    blank. 


ON      HOAR  U     T  H  E      C  I   M  li  E  R  L  A  N  L)  . 

\Vhen     I    awoke,    a    soldier    lad, 

All     dripping    from     the    sea, 
With    two    great    tears    upon    his    cheeks, 

"Was    bending    over    me. 


I    tried     to    speak.       He    understood 

The    wish     1     could    not    speak. 
He    turned    me.      There,    thank     (iod  '    the    Hag 

Still     fluttered    at    the    peak  ! 

And    there,    while    thread    shall    hang    to    thread, 

Oh,     let    that    ensign     flv  ' 
The    noblest    constellation    set 

Against    our    northern    skv. 


A    sign    that    we    who    live    may    claim 
The    peerage    of    the    brave  ; 

A     monument,    that    needs    no    scroll, 
For    those    beneath    the    wave. 


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